Travels of the Armordillo
by Kaptin Mordakk Toofrippa
Summary: Rammus, the Armordillo, is a simple and epicurean, but ever-mysterious soul. Every day he travels across the vast desert wastes of Shurima for his own reasons that almost none can predict, but occasionally he leaves it to venture across the surface of Runeterra like a restless, armored spirit. These are his many adventures.


The moon began to fall out of the dark night sky of the Shuriman Desert at last, and the bed of stars sitting over it had been reduced to a meager few specks that too began to fade within the expanse of the pink-purple horizon.

Beetles, each of their minuscule, chitinous carapaces as black as coal, began to emerge from the sand below it in droves after sensing the coming dawn; breaking through the surface of it akin to fish jumping out of water. In single-minded unison, they each crawled to the top of the nearest dune and instinctively turned about, sending their sleek, shelled abdomens into the air. Dew, formed by the heating of the cool temperature, slowly began to collect on the insects' abdomens as evolution had allowed them, and droplets of the coveted liquid carefully slipped down their bodies, into their awaiting and thirsty mouths.

With the celestial orb known as the sun now beginning to shine over the highest dunes, all dwelling over the sands knew morning had come. As the light of the sun struck the edge of a cave partially buried by sand, illuminating the entrance, the shape of the tall, upright, nonhuman being known as Rammus began to exit from it; stirred from his slumber by a pang of hunger that normally occurred at this time.

Of what features he possessed, all were rather plain and distinct. Two short and stumpy legs held him up, deceptively strong enough to cause the ground to violently shake in a manner akin to an earthquake at his whim. A pair of thick, smooth arms, powerful enough to push down hard-wrought buildings, upturn massive boulders, or rapidly dig tunnels through the ground, currently lied idly by his sides. At the end of said arms rested fingers made of three large claws - an index, ring, and thumbclaw - each as sharp and deadly as the blades of expertly-crafted knives.

Perhaps the most distinguishing feature he possessed was his shell. The durable cuirass-esque artifact, made by him in a time long passed and worn by him since the day it was forged, was covered in many long, protruding spikes that brought harm to those who conspired to harm him first. It covered his green, scaled body from his head to his stern, leaving only his simple face, arms and legs exposed from the openings, and was forever connected by straps that lead to a chestplate. It was equally his greatest treasure and his greatest natural defense against all challenges this hard and merciless world threw at him. It was the source of his millennia possessed, legendary and prided epithet; 'The Armordillo'.

And he was the only one to hold it as well. For as long as he could remember, he was the only Armordillo that restlessly wandered the world. No others of his kind have graced his glowing red eyes, though he wished fate wasn't so cruel in this aspect. Luckily, he had grown quite accustomed to this as the years went by, for he had many friends living in far-away places he occasionally liked to visit.

Putting his flat, red-eyed, noseless face ahead of himself, he started on his daily journey across the incomparably vast, ruin-strewn wastes to find something to eat. One of his favored forms of prey, when regular insects and whatever edible plant life proved too hard to find, were the gigantic kmiros scarab beetles that seemed to have a nasty habit of jumping forth from the sand to attack peaceful travelers. Hopefully he would come across at least one of the otherwise-despised beasts, but there was really no telling what one would encounter in the desert of Shurima.

Such as what he encountered next.

Rammus was still roaming along without a care in the world, when two figures who had been following in his tracks finally gained on him from behind. They were trying hard not to lose him, judging by the quickness of their individual paces. Rammus himself soon saw them out of the corner of his eye when they were less than several meters away, and turned around to face them accordingly. One was a big mule of a pappy brown color, bearing long ears on either side of its long-snouted, equine head, and holding various saddlebags on its side. The other, the one holding onto the mule's reins, was a human man.

He was an old man two feet shorter than Rammus in height, with a long, dark gray beard, and his frail frame was covered in thick white clothing and a hood made to keep the sun from burning his flesh. His exposed legs, skinny as brittle twigs, bore knees like twisted tree knobs. As his face met Rammus's own, he gaped in pure awe at the very sight of the creature, and let go of the narrow strap he held to keep his mule with him in his haste to walk just a tiny bit closer to the Armordillo.

"Oh, great and magnificent Rammus," the man said, falling to his aged knees. Despite the coolness of the Shuriman Desert's morning, sweat was falling from his wrinkled and tanned forehead in thick beads and slipping into the folds of his beard as though it was the scorching midday. "I have traveled far seeking you, oh mighty one, oh one who has Ascended. I am but a humble mason from Nashramae, and I have come seeking your guidance, divine bringer of earthquakes and smiter of the wicked. And for your wise council, I have brought you an offering."

With trembling hands, the man unhooked one of the many packs adorning his beast of burden and began to sift through it. As he did this, Rammus began to approach as his curiosity got the better of him, leaving large, three-clawed tracks in the sandy ground behind him as he walked forward. His red eyes looked to the man in the simple, lazy way he regarded most things in the world around him.

As Rammus had now long known, though only faintly cared and often forgot, many of the humans making a living in Shurima held a strong, albeit odd passion for him. Possibly since he had a bit of a habit of rolling in to aid them in their times of need; mostly purposeful out of the goodness of his kindly soul, sometimes unwittingly. Some humans even revered him as an Ascended being; a physical god born in ancient times who roamed the lands of men. Because of this factor and the scarce, questionably credible evidence that supported it, a cult devoted solely to him had blossomed forth in the more major cities. It was a healthy and strong cult too, one that lived within the benign hearts of many who saw him as a benevolent deity deserving of love and respect. Their customs were quite odd as well, what with them trying desperately to learn from the sparse moments he had appeared to them in the past, believing in multiple theories as to what his enigmatic purpose was, and even at times imitating and trying in vain to copy his natural abilities. He never ceased to find it amusing whenever he witnessed them somersaulting in droves through towns in great crowds from a far and safe distance; all attempting to perform the signature 'powerball' ability he used to speed along through the desert like a loose wagon wheel.

This pilgrim here appeared to be no different.

What the man soon brought out of his bag, as Rammus could plainly see, was a small bundle of brown cloth covering a vaguely cylinder shape. When the man unfolded it, what lied within was exposed in all of its glory. Rammus soon found his stomach rumbling hungrily, provoked into making such a noise by what he witnessed.

It was a glass jar, and what lied inside was several honeycombs. Each one had long, sticky, delicious streams of golden honey running down their gray, hexagon-indented surfaces.

"My offering, to you," the human said, his voice quivering with a malnourished mixture of exhaustion and unkempt excitement.

"Hmm," Rammus grunted in reply. The Armordillo reached down and grabbed the comparably small jar, unscrewed its lid, and stuck his claw into it; impaling one of the honeycombs on it. Bringing it out to his green, waiting face, he took a large bite out of it and chewed slowly.

"May I speak of my troubles to you now, noble one?" asked the man after a few seconds.

Rammus said nothing, continuing his eating of the treat instead; grabbing another when he finished the first, and then the second. The elderly person took this as a sign to begin his short plea.

"Great one, I have had a dream for my city, to put all of my efforts into constructing a marketplace unlike anything anyone has ever seen before. I believe it will bring a great source of commerce and income to it and my family, but I am unsure if such an undertaking will be worth all of my efforts, or in vain," he sighed, sadly. His head lowered a short ways, before rising again. "Is this a fate that I have the ability to follow? Is this what my destiny will allow one such as I to become?"

Rammus chewed up and swallowed the last of the honeycomb and savored its sweet taste, barely heeding his words. Seconds later, he spoke a single syllable in a monotonous tone.

"Yeah."

At first in disbelief, the man beamed. "T- _truly_?"

Rammus did not respond again. Instead, he got back up to his feet and began to wander over toward the mule, passing the man. Looking to the many saddlebags hanging off of it, he pried one open with the flick of a claw and reached into it, rummaging noisily around without fear of reprisal. He soon got a stable hold of what felt like a bottle, and pulled out a glass flask filled with a creamy white liquid he recognized with joy.

"Th-that is some goat's milk I have brought for this journey," the human revealed, confirming to Rammus what he thought it was. Without a moment to spare, Rammus popped open the lid and put it to his mouth.

Rammus quickly downed the goat's milk, leaving only an empty flask after but a few seconds. When he finished, he dropped the bottle to the ground with a small, hollow clatter and licked the last of the delicious substance from his lipless mouth. Had anyone else performed this action, the human would have at the very least yelled something of outrage for the pilfering of his hard-gained goods. But for the great and wise Rammus, he merely smiled mirthfully, happy that the renowned being enjoyed what he had.

The mule let out a bray and began to slowly trot away from the Armordillo's intimidating, spiky form. Before it could wander off more than two feet, the man rushed up to it and grabbed ahold of its reins.

"I humbly thank you for your time and your answer, omnipotent one." He turned to Rammus and bowed, low enough so that his head almost touched the sand he stood upon. "Your wisdom is something I will not soon squander."

Rammus merely smiled dumbly. Hoping he wasn't overstaying his welcome in the presence of the surely divine and awe-inspiring creature, the man took his mule and began to lead it off. Within a short span of time he was gone; vanished over a dune lining the now-orange horizon, headed away from the perilous Shuriman wastes and back toward the safe folds of civilization countless miles away. Feeling his hunger left unfilled from the small treats he had devoured, Rammus also headed off in the opposite direction in search of his next meal.

* * *

With the terse-given words of Rammus, the elderly mason instantly set to accomplishing his task upon his return to Nashramae. He spent nearly every waking moment of his life since then putting his blood, sweat and tears into making the marketplace, and finished it quite some time after. People came in great flocks to set up their shops and display their items for sale in it, with nods and whispers of approval at its grand design coming from every street corner. Even more people and traders entered from other, distant cities and lands to peruse the many stocks, and the gold that came in with them flowed like sweet wine into a rich man's goblet.

In less than half-a-year, the once-struggling city had become a center for trade and commerce, and many adventurers came visiting it to simply witness the spectacle of this marketplace, now dubbed as the heart of Nashramae itself.

When asked what influenced him to build it, the mason was often heard saying something along the lines of "Oh, yes I built it. I built it strong and beautifully with all the skill I possessed, but the wise words of the noble Rammus were what inspired me to perform this once-dreamed feat in the first place. Without his council, my will to undertake such a task would have been poor and most likely would have failed because of that. In my earnest opinion, the great Armordillo truly is worthy of all the respect and admiration he is given.

"For he is truly a wise creature beyond any of our mortal understanding."


End file.
